Bits and Pieces
by Sora Resi
Summary: Piece six: England is feeling unwell, and a certain someone comes to lend a helping hand. Short (mainly) US/UK stories with a few other characters interspersed, and little drabbles. A place to put all the little pieces that aren't full stories in their own rights. Rated T for potential language.
1. Jetlag

**_AN: This 'fic' will be a place for me to post little bits and pieces of story that aren't enough to warrant being a story on their own. As such, it'll be updated as a when I have creative spurts... rare as they may be ;)_**

**_Anyways, do enjoy!_**

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**Jet Lag**

England sighed emphatically, wriggling around as he tried to find a comfortable position on the sofa in America's living room. Whilst the sofa itself was ridiculously cosy as sofas went (and America had no doubt spend a fortune on it, as he did everything; the damned thing was coloured to match his flag, the egotistical sod) it wasn't exactly the most ideal place to sleep. This was both because of how noisy the younger lad was (it would have been better had he simply left the older man alone to wallow in self pity... but no, he'd insisted on keeping him company), as well as the fact that is was bare of both cushions and blankets, so despite the sofa itself being quite pleasant to lie on, it was hardly a substitute for a proper bed.

England was currently feeling incredibly resentful of what was known amongst nations as 'permanent jet lag', namely the fact that occasionally nations found themselves so closely tied to their country that their body was completely unable to re-adjust to a new time zone. Fortunately, this didn't happen every single time a nation went abroad (otherwise conferences and meetings would simply never happen) but it did rear it's ugly head occasionally. In England's case, it somehow _always_ managed to flare up on the trips he took to America, when they organised holidays together in the spirit of the special relationship/getting lots of very intimate time together.

As it was, said nation was currently feeling fairly sorry for himself. As his body was insisting it was roughly 6 or 7 hours later than it was, he found himself collapsed and on the verge of sleep in America's painfully sunny living room despite it only being late afternoon, whilst the younger nation was propped against the far end of the sofa, energetically and enthusiastically mashing buttons on one of his infernal games consoles.

He grumbled and flopped onto his side, lifting a fairly limp arm in a vain attempt to block out some of the excess light. Vaguely, he wondered if he could telepathically communicate with the lad to close the curtains, but then he realised that he was so dense it probably wouldn't be able to permeate his thick skull and sighed again. America's cries and yelling weren't helping the matter, but it was clear that even with all the interruptions in the world, he wasn't going to stay awake much longer. He was shattered. He knew that it would be more peaceful to shift his arse into the bedroom that he and America shared whenever he visited, but at the same time he couldn't get his heavy limbs to co-operate and play nice, so he resigned himself to dozing off the American-flag themed couch.

He huffed a sigh into the garish red, white and blue fabric.

So pre-occupied was he with his predicament, he didn't realise that the blaring TV had been silenced, or that America was peering over his shoulder to stare at the nigh-comatose older nation. Nor did he hear the fond sigh or shifting of loose clothing as he lifted himself off the floor and leant over him. It was only when he noticed the shadow blocking the sunlight (and momentarily wondered if America wasn't as dense as he'd thought and had picked up on his prior thoughts) did it register that his lover had stopped his previous activities to see how he was doing.

England grumbled again, voice muffled by his arm and the fact that half is face was pressed against the sofa.

Without waiting to ask or even hesitating, America stooped down and dragged the limp man into his arms in a bridal hold. This wasn't the first time America had ended up carrying him to bed, just as it wasn't the first time that well-laid plans had been disrupted as a result of this blight upon his existence. Too exhausted to fight or even complain about how demeaning this was (and secretly loving the attention, even if it did make him seem somewhat... _damsel-y_. He'd never admit it to anyone's face because they'd never let him live it down, but Arthur adored the times when Alfred would coddle him like he was the most precious thing in the world, even if it did mean sacrificing a certain amount of dignity), instead he simply curled into the warmth the encompassed him. After a momentary pause he muttered a couple of curses to show willing.

America just laughed.

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**_AN: Yeah, this one just popped into my head earlier. I thought it'd be funny if, as a nation, they could be so closely linked to their country and their people that occasionally they can't simply readjust to a new timezone. 'Tis merely a thought. Please be so kind as to read and review if you enjoyed this in any way or form. No beta, so if there are mistakes just say and I'll rectify them!_**


	2. Safe and Sound - Part I

**_AN: I love reading fanfics about one or both of them being homeless... mainly because there's something about a helpless England that's too adorable to pass up. Anyway, this is my contribution to all the other amazing fics I've read on the topic and inspired by '_****Something to be Thankful for' by fanfic writer 'briaranise'**. 

**_I was listening to 'Safe and Sound' by Taylor Swift, which was so beautifully melancholic. I don't generally like her music, but that one song is just... wow ;)_**

**_This fic is AU and uses human names._**

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**Safe and Sound**

When he was eighteen Arthur had had an argument with his family. It wasn't the kind of argument which resulted in everyone going their separate ways to sulk in peace, only to reconcile a few days later over family dinner... it was far more permanent than that. His parents refused to accept his life choices: namely, what he wanted to study and whom he wished to date. His brothers were just as intolerant, except in their case such refusals to get along often resulted in wayward fists, aches and bruises. There was little chance they'd ever accept him for who he was.

It was without any consultation from him that his parents found a university in America that had a course that was roughly what he was looking at. One morning, hung-over to hell and back and burdened with a headache that felt akin to a clamp tightening around his skull, he found himself dropped off at the airport, bags already packed whilst he was asleep, with a ticket to New York, an acceptance letter for a scholarship to a moderately prestigious university and a debit card with enough money to tide him over until he got settled enough to find his own job. And then they shut him out of their lives forever.

The transition was hard. He'd always known that America, whilst sharing a common language, was very different to his own rainy little country, but he'd never anticipated how hard it would be to adjust until midway through his first semester. A panic attack in his dorm had resulted in him not only mortifying himself in front of the other students who he had made no effort to befriend, but also dropping behind in studying a course that had nothing to do with what he wished to do in life. Unable to change to a course more relevant to his interests and considered a weird foreigner by all the other students he'd met, he dropped out a few weeks before Christmas.

With barely any money left, nowhere to stay and no family to turn to, he found himself on the streets. It was the middle of November and New York was far colder than England; even he didn't think he'd last until Christmas.

_**~SR~**_

Arthur sat with his back pressed against the brick wall, the frigid air nipping at the exposed digits of his hands. A mist floated before his face with every slow breath, pushing past chapped lips and relinquishing his body of what little heat it still had. The last day had been bad, to say the least. Usually he'd have at least a little bit of luck and be able to find some half-eaten food, but it seemed that even the hardy New Yorkers had forgone the cold and this left him starving.

What little possessions he'd taken abroad with him had either been left in his university room when he was kicked out or tucked into his ratty backpack, depending on how important they were to him. He'd wandered around, trying to find even a basic job so he'd have a source of income, but everyone had taken one look at his torn and frayed clothes, pale and sunken face and overall ruffled appearance and refused to even speak to him.

So he had nothing left to do than attempt to survive winter without a shelter over his head or a reliable source of food. For now, he'd managed to find a spot in a particularly dingy alley way, behind some flats in a fairly low-income area of the city. It was freezing.

He was wearing a lightweight jacket that had been big even when he'd got it as a hand-me-down from one of his older brothers, which meant that it went down to his knees. He had no gloves, although he'd found a scarf in one of his bags whilst sorting out what was important and unimportant and had wrapped it tightly around his neck. His face was cold, pale except for his cheeks and the tip of his nose, which were a rosy pink. He had always been slender, but now he was teetering on being dangerously underweight. All this simply served to make him feel the cold even more harshly. To make it even worse, if possible, his breathing had been hard and uncomfortable for a few days now, and he was sure he was coming down with something.

It was late in the day when Arthur forced himself upright and stumbled out of the alley that he called home. Although he'd have loved nothing more than to remain curled up in the ratty blanket he'd had the foresight to bring with him, he knew that if he went much longer without finding something to eat he'd be in big trouble. The street wasn't deserted, but it was far from being busy. He kept his head down, staring at the cracked cement that wore down his old trainers. He didn't want to look at the other people; he didn't want to be reminded of what he no longer had.

He stumbled as someone shoved past him, but said nothing. The sudden movement left him struck with a wave of dizziness, but before he could fall flat on his face he felt a strong hand hold his elbow and steady him. Vaguely, underneath the white noise ringing through his ears, he could hear someone talking.

"You… a… right, dude…?" Arthur kept his head down, attempting to stop the violent spinning and trying to slow his rapidly increasing heart rate. "Hello?" A hand was waved in front of his face. This shocked him out of his stupor and before he could even think about what he was doing, he bolted. Anything to get as far away as possible from all the people who had lives that didn't need him overcomplicating them.

It was only when he was back and safely in his alley that he realised that the man who had shoved him had somehow managed to slip a half eaten burger and a pack of fries into one of his side pockets.

**_~SR~_**

As the year slouched on and made its way into December, the weather went from just being cold to being positively unbearable. Some days were fairly pleasant, and he only had to deal with what felt like Arctic temperatures. Other days, the heavens caved and he had no choice but to try and find shelter under any awning, balcony or shop front so that he didn't die from the freezing rain and sleet that pelted down. It was on one such day, after being forcibly removed from the front of a café, that he found himself out in the rain. With nowhere else to go, he wandered around until he found a bench in an almost-abandoned park. At least here his presence couldn't offend anyone.

He sat there, trying to ignore the freezing water that coated his exposed skin and soaked through the few layers he wore. He was so cold, and the last time he'd found food had been a couple of days previous. His chest felt somewhat heavy and he found himself having to force breaths on occasion.

"Hey!" Some guy yelled from his left. Arthur ignored him. He certainly wasn't talking to him.

"Hey, you! Bench dude!" Although now he thought about it, the voice seemed somewhat familiar…

The freezing onslaught of rain ceased as an umbrella was held over his head. Arthur avoided eye contact and tried to shift away from the strange man intent on encroaching into his personal space. Unfortunately, the man was not letting this happen.

He was tall and his accent clearly American. Dark blonde hair was plastered to his slightly tanned face. Shocking blue eyes peered from behind foggy and rain flecked glasses. In fact, he was very clearly the man from that day. Arthur could even see a McDonald's wrapper poking out of one of his pockets. He was brash and loud and a personification of absolutely everything he loathed about the godforsaken country he was stuck in.

"Dude, you alright?" The face peered down at him. Arthur turned away, then jumped when he turned back to find the strange American inches from his own face.

"What the hell do you want?" It had been some time since he'd had to speak to another person, and it was noticeable. His voice was weak and quiet from disuse. Even half a year previously his scathing tone would have scared off even the friendliest person.

"You shouldn't be out in this sort of weather."

"Neither should you, so kindly _go away_."

"No."

"What?" Arthur stared at the impertinent youth in disbelief.

"You heard me."

"_Go away._"

"_No._" They stared at each other, as though competing. Arthur backed down and sighed. A faint rumble of thundered rolled distantly. He stared at the sky, pointedly avoiding the other's face.

"What does it matter to you, anyway?"

"You're homeless, right?"

"Whether I currently have a home or not is none of your damn business." The wind picked up and he suppressed a shiver as the younger man drew his bomber jacket around himself.

"Yes it is." Arthur growled faintly.

"And why is that, now?"

"'Cause I'm the hero!" At this he reached out and grabbed Arthur's bony wrist. He flinched away violently.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!?"

"Dude…" His face went serious, and it was odd how disconcerting this felt. "I've seen you a few times in the last few weeks an-"

"- are you a stalker?"

"No!"

"Why me? Out of every single homeless person in this Godforsaken city, _why me_?" Alfred didn't answer. He gave a deep sigh. When he replied a hint of a drawl had crept into his accent.

"Look, you're cold and you're wet and you look like you're about to drop dead from hypothermia. I've seen you when I walk back from college - must'a been about a dozen times now - and you look worse each and every time. I ain't gonna let you freeze to death. I just want to help you, okay?"

Arthur met his eyes in disbelief. The sheer honesty radiating from them tore into his heart. How could a random stranger be so kind when his own family hadn't even given him the time of day? The temperature was still dropping, and suddenly his bones felt so weary and Arthur felt so lost that he didn't know what to do or even why he should bother fighting any more. Before he even realised it, a quiet sob had escaped.

"Oh no, no… please don't cry! I didn't mean to upset you!" Arthur sniffed and tried to wipe his face with a soaked jacket sleeve. Somehow a watery chuckle escaped, merging with the gasping sobs.

"Sorry, I'm not usually this… well, this." He took a deep, shuddering breath as he tried to organise his thoughts. It didn't take long to make a decision. He stood up, still under the umbrella. The young man in front of him beamed. This time when Alfred took his hand, he simply held back tighter.

**_~SR~_**

Arthur didn't remember much of the walk back to Alfred's apartment, although the younger man had nattered on and on incessantly. Too cold and tired to listen, he'd simply let the words wash over him soothingly. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed basic human contact. It felt like a lifetime since he'd been treated like an actual person, as opposed to vermin.

As they walked through the city, both conscious of how closely they stood together to fit under the umbrella, Arthur took stock of where Alfred was leading him. They had moved out the slum area fairly quickly, and into a slightly higher-class area. Alfred's apartment was on the second floor of a well-kept looking building which, he informed Arthur, housed a fair few students. Still dazed from everything that had and was happening, this was one of the few things he said that Arthur actually registered.

The warmth of the apartment was a shocking contrast to the dire weather outside, and apparently it was a big enough shock to finally drag Arthur's battered body under. Alfred had barely got halfway through helping him shed his drenched clothes when everything went dizzy and dark, and he collapsed into strong and caring arms.

Although he had freaked out internally, Alfred had tried to remain calm as the frail young man had collapsed. He'd finished stripping him of his clothing and replaced it with an over-sized t-shirt and some jogging bottoms that hung off his thin hips, despite the fact that he'd bought them years ago when he was pretty small himself. He'd then carried him carefully to his own bedroom, as he lacked a guest room, and called a close friend who was interning at a local hospital. It took Kiku all of about half an hour to reach his apartment.

Whilst he was waiting, Alfred had nosed around the rucksack his guest had been clutching onto both times he'd met him. There were a few articles of clothing and a plush unicorn, which made Alfred snort mildly in amusement. A passport identified his guest as Arthur Kirkland, and that he was only a year older than Alfred himself. Not that you could tell from his stature. It stated that he was a British national, but Alfred had already picked that up from the accent. However, there was nothing else - no wallet or money, and no phone. It seemed that Arthur truly was down on his luck.

Unsure of what to do now, Alfred picked up the unicorn from where it had been discarded on his sofa and took it into his room. Arthur's face was flushed and he was shivering violently, but there was nothing Alfred could until Kiku got there. He gently placed the unicorn next to him. If it was so important that it was one of the few possessions the boy owned, he figured he'd appreciate it when he woke up.

He wasn't sure what was going to happen next, or how long it would take for Arthur to recover. He didn't even know why he was homeless. However, he knew one thing: the first time he'd seen Arthur, stumbling in the street, he'd been drawn to him, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let him go back to living on the streets.

He silently made a hero's promise. Arthur was going to be safe with him, no matter what.

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**_AN: Not sure if I'll do anything else with this fic. I was half thinking about going at it from Alfred's perspective or a continuation, but it kind of depends on the response I get and if I have the right inspiration. I hope you enjoyed reading it! And thanks to the person who reviewed my last chapter on a guest account, and to everyone who favourited it and added it to their alerts!_**


	3. Safe and Sound - Part II

_**AN: Well, a couple of reviewers asked me to continue and how could I possibly refuse? I hope you enjoy reading this, my lovelies!**_

**_This fic is AU and uses human names._**

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**Safe and Sound - Part II**

Kiku had arrived at Alfred's flat to find his close friend stressing himself out endlessly about some guy who had collapsed in his hallway. Kiku wasn't quite sure on the exact details, because when Alfred spoke too fast he had a very hard time comprehending what he was saying even on good days, and on this particular occasion the usually boisterous American was chatting away at a mile a minute. In the end he picked up on the general gist of the situation; namely, that the 'guy' was some homeless man Alfred had picked up and that his name was Arthur and also that he was, to quote Alfred, 'a totally awesome Brit dude who totally isn't very well so please fix him?'

Alfred was the sort of person who'd pick up cats and dogs off the streets and then hide them in his room until they were better as a child, so this didn't actually surprise the reserved Japanese man very much. With barely a minute to pause for breath, he was ushered into Alfred's own bedroom and presented with his patient.

It was clear immediately that this Arthur wasn't in very good health, and to be honest Kiku would have rather the young man had been taken to a hospital instead. Unfortunately, this wasn't really financially viable, so instead he put his training to use instead. Examining the Brit, it was apparent that he'd been living rough for at least a few weeks; he was severely underweight and clearly malnourished. Alfred had dressed him in a thin cotton t-shirt, which he removed whilst checking him over, and his ribs and hip bones were distinctly protruding, a sign that he had very little body fat. He was also pale, more so than one would be if they were healthy, even if they were naturally fair-skinned.

The soles of his feet and his hands were dirty and from the smell of it he hadn't showered or bathed in some time. Kiku overlooked this for now. It was something that could be sorted easily enough once the young man could move of his own accord.

His face was flushed and he was slightly sweaty, and Kiku could hear a rattling whenever he inhaled or exhaled. The fever, his rapid heartbeat and his general state were symptoms of pneumonia. Kiku realised just how lucky it was that Alfred had dragged the poor man into his life when he had, because otherwise he doubted that he would have survived long without treatment. Not in his physical state, and not on the streets at this time of the year.

Fortunately, despite how bad the young Brit looked, Kiku was sure that he'd be able to recover without hospitalisation. He looked towards his friend, hovering anxiously on the other side of the bed, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"He's in a fairly bad way, but not so dangerous yet that he can't stay here, Alfred. He just needs bed rest and plenty of fluids. I'll go by the hospital and see if I can get some antibiotics to try and clear up the infection in his lungs. Can you manage all right when I'm gone?"

"Sure, of course I can." Kiku was relieved to see that the harried and stressed look that had been on his face previously had been replaced with a somewhat relieved smile. Not one to hang around, Kiku bid Alfred farewell and left. The American followed him to the front door and thanked him with a back-breaking hug, before heading back to the frail man in his bedroom.

Arthur slept through the rest of the day and night. This worried Alfred slightly because Kiku had told him to make sure he drank plenty of fluids, which was fairly hard to enforce when he wasn't awake to drink, but he finally began to stir early the next morning. Alfred waited by the bed with a glass of water and some pills that Kiku had dropped by later the night before. He was a bit stiff from sleeping on the sofa, but he was a morning person and once he'd had his cup of coffee he was pretty content regardless. He was anxious for Arthur to wake up so that he could start recovering, but held back from waking him up. He didn't want to scare or upset him any more than he'd already be.

Arthur felt himself being dragged into consciousness. He felt absolutely rotten; his chest was heavier than ever, and all his muscles and bones had a deep ache residing in them. It was still fairly hard for him to breathe too, and he found himself taking painful short breaths to try and compensate for his lungs' inability to draw complete breaths. He realised that, for the first time in months, he was waking up somewhere warm and comfortable. Faintly, he could recall the boy and what had happened in the park. Panicking slightly, he forced himself awake at a less sedate pace; he needed to know where he was and what was happening. The boy hadn't seemed like too much of a creeper, but he'd already broken the key rule that every child is taught from the ridiculously young age; don't go home with strangers.

The first thing he noticed upon opening his eyes was that he was clutching tightly onto the plush unicorn that he could have sworn he'd tucked away safely in his backpack. Without even thinking, he drew it tightly into his chest, like he'd done so many times as a young child.

The second thing he noticed was the handsome American - whose name he'd never been told, he recalled as his memory caught up with him - standing next to the bed he was lying in with a glass of water in one hand and a packet of pills in the other. He was smiling, although Arthur noted that he looked a bit tired. Glancing around the room, he realised from the décor and contents that it must have been his, and felt a shred of guilt for kicking the young man out of his own bed.

"You okay?" Arthur went to reply, but found that he couldn't force any words out of his throat. The man noticed the distressed look. "Here, drink this." Arthur reached forward clumsily and wriggled himself upright, much to the protest of his body. A large gulp of the cool water helped ease the fire in his throat. He tried again.

"Where am I?"

"You're at my flat." He paused, face scanning the sickly man before him. "You do remember what happened yesterday, right?"

"We were on the bench…"

"Yeah. I brought you back 'cause you didn't look so good, remember? I'm Alfred, by the way." Arthur held his hand out without even thinking. The American, Alfred as he'd just been informed, grinned and shook it. "Nice to meetcha, Arthur Kirkland!" He saw the frown. "Sorry, I nosed through your backpack and found your passport. Needed to know who you were. I gave you your unicorn, too."

"He's called Reginald." There was a suffocating pause, before Alfred burst into peals of laughter. Arthur scowled and pulled the unicorn in close again. After a minute or so the laughter died down, but Alfred still wore a massive grin. The awkwardness from before had been well and truly broken.

"Sorry… that's an interesting name for a unicorn." Arthur pouted, but didn't say anything else. He didn't really have to, because Alfred seemed fairly good at carrying the conversation on by himself.

"You hungry?" Arthur didn't have to reply, as a grumbling stomach did that for him. Alfred chuckled. "Want anything in particular?" Arthur shrugged.

"Something edible? After the last few months I'm not really very picky." His voice still felt a bit hoarse, but it was louder than it had been in weeks.

"That's fair enough, I guess," he laughed again. Arthur gave a half-hearted scowl, but felt his own lips quirk upwards slightly. "I don't actually have much food in the house. You okay for McDonald's?"

"You gave me that crap that day you pushed me in the streets and I know for a fact you had some yesterday. Do you ever eat anything else?"

"... sometimes?"

"You're a walking heart attack... but sure, I'll have some. I'll have anything. I'm famished." Another pause, once again quickly broken by Alfred. He didn't seem to like the silence.

"Yeah, Kiku sa-"

"-Kiku?"

"Oh yeah! He's my cool Japanese friend. He works in a hospital so I got him to check you over last night. He was the one who gave me the pills for your pneumonia."

"Oh, okay… wait, pneumonia?"

"Yeah. Anyways, Kiku said you have to rest a lot and drink a lot and that we really need to fatten you up."

"Can you 'fatten me up' without clogging my arteries full of crap at the same time?" Alfred let out a booming laugh.

"I can try!" And at that he left the room. A couple of minutes later Arthur heard the front door swing shut and the flat was silent. He absently wondered how long it would take for the American to come back with food. It seemed like there were fast food restaurants on every corner, so he didn't think it should be very long. With nothing else to do, he lay propped up against the pillows and thought about the circumstances he'd found himself in.

Arthur found himself irresistibly drawn the Alfred, against his better judgement. Everything about the last half a year made him want to hate America and anything associated with it, yet he just couldn't bring himself to feel anything other than bubbling adoration for the younger man. It was an uncomfortable sensation in his chest, and he was sure that it had nothing to do with the pneumonia that Alfred said he was suffering from. It was a lot more pleasant and made his heart flutter and his chest feel warm.

Arthur hadn't realised that he'd dozed off to sleep until Alfred gently shook him awake. The smell of fast food permeated the room, and he saw that Alfred had placed some on a tray for him. Forgoing all dignity and pride, he launched into the meal. It felt like cardboard on his tongue and dripped in worrying ways, but it was the most amazing thing he'd tasted in months.

Once he had somewhat satiated his hunger, he decided to get to know his saviour a bit better.

"So what do you do, Alfred?"

"Huh?" The American paused halfway through biting a chunk out of his hamburger. He'd dragged a kitchen chair into the room and was slouched on it to the one side of the bed.

"I said, what do you do? Are you in school? Do you work? I don't even know how old you are."

"Oh. Well I'm 17 and I'm at college studying physics."

"17?" Arthur asked, in surprise. "That's a bit young for university, isn't it?"

"Dude, I'm totally a genius!" Arthur deadpanned. "Well, not like Einstein or anything, but I did really well in high school so I graduated a little earlier than most people my age. I didn't even stop to think about what I wanted to do, cause I always knew. So I applied and got into the university near here. I was born in Texas, so it was a bit of a way to go! But I love it here." He grinned. "What about you?"

Arthur looked away, suddenly feeling self conscious and ashamed. Alfred was young and smart and had managed to do everything Arthur had failed at. He'd probably think he was absolutely pathetic.

"I don't want to talk about it." He looked down at his food and pretended to focus intently on eating it. Alfred wasn't fooled.

"Well tough, 'cause I'm gonna get it outta you one way or another." He reached out a held Arthur's wrist. Skinny as he was, it was absolutely dwarfed in the American's hand. Arthur scowled and sighed, but relented. For some reason he didn't feel like fighting against the younger boy. It just seemed implicitly wrong to even try.

"Fine. I had a falling out with my family back in England and they disowned me. They shipped me off here to do a course that I didn't want to do and I ended up dropping out. I had nowhere to go and no friends so I ended up homeless. Then you found me. End of story." He bit a massive chunk out of his own burger so he wouldn't be forced to say anything else, but Alfred didn't press for any more information and instead gave him a _look_ and went back to eating his own food. The silence was more comfortable than Arthur thought silence ever had a right to be.

Both of them were in deep thought as they finished their meal.

Alfred felt bad for the smaller man. When he'd been accepted to the university of his choice he and his parents had been ecstatic. As a well off family, they'd found a flat local to his college and paid the rent for him each month so that he didn't have to worry about anything other than studying. He did actually have a part-time job to supplement his income, but his parents footed the rest of the bill for pretty much everything. Not to mention that he took for granted the fact that if ever he had trouble with university life, his family was always there to support him. Arthur must have felt absolutely out of his depth when his own family had disowned him and left him to fend for himself.

Not to mention the culture shock he must have suffered. Alfred knew from friends and the internet that, although they shared a language, England and America had drastically different cultures. It must have been incredibly difficult to accept not only that he no longer had a family, but that he was alone in a foreign country without anyone to help him. Hell, if it had been the opposite and Alfred had found himself in that situation in England, he couldn't say that he wouldn't have ended up in exactly the same position.

But that was okay, because Alfred F Jones never abandoned a friend, and Arthur was sure as hell one of his now.

_**~SR~**_

Weeks passed and Arthur settled in with relative ease. Alfred had threatened to tie him down with rope if he so much as thought about getting up to do anything other than use the toilet, so he spent most of the time sleeping and then eating whenever Alfred barged in with a platter of whatever American food he decided Arthur desperately needed to sample. Whilst still on the small side, Arthur started putting on weight and the infection in his lungs started to clear up.

Christmas had been a quiet affair. Alfred told Arthur that he normally took a flight back to Texas to spend it with his family, but on this particular year his folks had been helping his brother settle into a college up north and instead the pair of them spent the day in Alfred's room, chatting and watching television. Alfred had even made a passable roast dinner, to Arthur's amazement. He hadn't thought his capable of doing anything other than buying takeout. Arthur had still been confined to his bed, so he'd lay down quietly whilst Alfred was in the kitchen and had read one of the handful of books he'd been supplied with to pass the time.

He couldn't quite bring himself to say it out loud, but as quiet and low key as it was, it was probably the best Christmas Arthur had celebrated in a long time. The last few years had been loud and full of argumentative siblings. Because he was the smallest and youngest, he'd usually got the brunt of it, and his parents had never cared enough to put their foot down on the rough behaviour. Alfred, on the other hand, was always smiling and always happy to see and talk to him. It was a wonderful feeling.

It was a sunny but chilly day in February that found the pair of them sitting around the table in Alfred's kitchen. Alfred had deemed Arthur well enough a few days previous to finally get out and about, so there had been an excursion to buy some properly fitting clothes and a couple of trips out for food. For most of the part, Arthur was happy to stay in the warm confines of the flat. Now the pair of them sat, relaxed, with cups of hot chocolate in a comfortable silence. Alfred, as usual, was the one to break it.

"So what ya gonna do now?" Arthur looked up, a marshmallow in his mouth. He swallowed.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, since you're staying here - no arguments, Artie." He cut off the Brit before he could protest. "What next?"

"Artie?" He spluttered, accidentally spitting out some of his drink in his irritation. "It's Arthur, you tosser!" He took a deep breath, eyebrow twitching (Alfred just chuckled at the outburst) and calmed himself. "I'm not sure. I have to do something. I can't keep freeloading off your hospitality." Alfred hmmed, but didn't say anything. He honestly didn't mind the smaller man hanging around; he was fun to talk to and he felt the stirrings of a deeper affection towards him than he was willing to admit right now. But even he could see that Arthur wasn't the sort of person who liked to feel reliant on other people.

"A job?" He suggested. "Wait! How about you go back to uni?" Arthur shook his head violently.

"I couldn't do that. Not after failing the first time around… not to mention that I have no funds whatsoever."

"Hear me out - no," he held his hand up before Arthur could interrupt, "get a job, save some stuff up and then go back and do what you want to do, _not_ what your parents lay out for you. If you got a scholarship the first time around you're clearly smart enough."

"Do you really think so?"

"Absolutely!" Alfred was gifted with one of Arthur's small smiles. The butterflies in his chest kicked up a storm. "What do ya think?"

"Hmm." He took another sip. Then gave an incredibly _rare_ big smile. "Sounds like a plan."

Alfred could only grin in response.

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**_AN: Fanfiction's spell-check is pretty sucky. 'Hoarse' is a word, thank you very much! And the English spelling of 'hospitalisation' is quite alright, too._**

**_Thank you so much to 'mapleandmintbunnyz', 'alchemisthetaliapirates' and the guest reviewer for reviewing the last chapter. It always make me incredibly happy to get feedback! And if you enjoyed this chapter, please do review too! :)_**


	4. Runaway

**Runaway**

"Do you want to runaway?"

"Wha-"

"Run away. Right now."

...

"Alright."

_**~SR~**_

They had fake passports. They wouldn't work for long because of photo recognition, but it would be enough to get out in the middle of nowhere. They chose the Canadian wilderness, mainly because no one ever remembered Canada and no one would assume that America and England would go anywhere other than one of their own countries. So they dropped everything; Alfred his paperwork and phone, Arthur his luggage and any communication device on his person. Then they hurried to the nearest airport with nothing other than the clothes they were wearing and bought tickets to an airport in Montana. Alfred had a vacation home in the hills to the South of the state, and he knew that anyone tracking their movements would assume that was where he was heading.

A few hours later the plane landed, they disembarked, headed North and vanished into the Rockies.

It wasn't much hassle to then cross the border into Canada. A few days travelling later and they found an abandoned cabin in the middle of the Canadian wilderness. Possibly an old hunting lodge, but it looked like it hadn't been used in several years so its original purpose didn't matter either way. Sharing smiles and kisses, they took it for their own and quickly settled in.

Arthur had grown up in the Iron Age and had no problem with reverting back to a fairly primal state. Once upon a time his own country had been smothered in trees and full of wildlife. Alfred couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the older nation so relaxed and happy; whilst it wasn't his own country, it was peaceful and free from all the stresses that their lives had dwindled into. He was also incredibly efficient at hunting, as Alfred found out when he'd returned one evening with a grin and a handmade bow and arrow set, the carcass of some poor creature slung over his shoulder.

Whilst Alfred had spent a lot less time in the wilderness before Arthur had become his big brother, post-revolution he'd spent years roughing it in the west of his country and working the trails, so he was more than capable of dealing with a more basic life style. Whilst he loudly bemoaned the lack of any game consoles and being parted from his precious phone, he too was happier than he had been in some time. His years as a cowboy also meant that he had a good knowledge of how to survive in the North American wilderness. Together, they had no problem surviving.

It was a drastic change from the last one hundred years or so. No politicians hounding them day in and day out. No meetings or conferences or other nations calling at ridiculous hours in the morning to complain about stupidly trivial problems. Just the two of them and nature, alone and completely at ease with life.

The only thing that made it even more perfect was that they spent the entire time together. No Geography. No politics. Just them, as people, alone.

_**~SR~**_

Thirteen weeks later they tracked down by an irate France and a faintly peeved Canada.

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_**AN: Not much to say for this one. Just a short something that dropped into my brain-space and demanded to be written.**_

_**Thanks to InvaderPey and TotalDramaRama for reviewing the last chapter, and thanks to all you guys that favourited/added this story to your alerts!**_


	5. The Beauty of the Fae

**The Beauty of the Fae**

The fae were beautiful. This was an undisputed fact among those who still had the ability to see them clearly. Pale skin, lithe bodies and iridescent wings that flickered every colour in the spectrum. Their faces looked like carved porcelain and their features were indescribably delicate. Even the most talented of artists couldn't do them justice, not that they hadn't tried over and over again.

Arthur knew the fae were beautiful. He had known them his entire life and it was a fact that had been a fact in his mind since before he understood most other concepts. The fae were beautiful. That was that. No mere mortal could ever compare, but he didn't mind. As long as he was in their presence, he could engender a little bit of the mystique and marvel that permeated the air they breathed. As long as he could do this, he was content with life.

What Arthur didn't realise was that he himself was also beautiful. Maybe not conventionally beautiful, but certainly enough to attract the gazes of those around him. So enraptured was he by the magical creatures that surrounded him, he had never realised that amongst the mortals he was almost as inhumanly beautiful. Milky pale skin and enthralling absinthe eyes, alight with the faint glow of magic. Even his eyebrows, mocked for their size by those jealous of him, were not in actuality as hideous as made out. They fit his face perfectly and emphasised the piercing emerald eyes that rested beneath.

The other nations noticed. Some more than others. Some tried to woo him and some tried to take him by force, but ultimately none succeeded. Arthur himself was oblivious. The fae were beautiful; he was not.

Maybe, one day, someone would be able to convince him otherwise.

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_**AN: Was cleaning up some of the sticky notes on my computer and found this short drabble. It was fun to write, if short, and I hope it was as fun to read :)**_

_**Google Chrome keeps trying to americanise all of my spellings...**_


	6. Sick Day

_**AN: Just a short one that's been hanging around the computer. Just a little family/friendship fluff with England and Canada. Poor England tends to suffer in my hands, doesn't he?**_

* * *

**Sick Day**

Arthur sniffed miserably. His face was red and flushed, and minute shudders spasmed through his body at irregular intervals. His nose was completely blocked and he had to breath through his mouth, leaving a throat that was already sore and painful feeling exceptionally raw too, just to top it all off.

He had managed to make his way downstairs that morning only to find – halfway through making his morning cuppa – that he was far too dizzy to remain upright. The mug and teabag now sat on the kitchen counter, forlornly lacking the water and milk necessary to make it drinkable. Arthur himself was collapsed in the kitchen chair in nothing more than his pyjamas, trying to shield his eyes from the bright light of the morning sun and thoroughly unable to appreciate the fact that it was the first sunny day he'd had in weeks. He was trying to muster up the resolve to pull himself to his feet and make his unsteady way back to bed.

He sniffed again and flopped his head on the wooden table top with a dull thud. His head was pounding so much that it took a pause and the need to raise himself from his illness-induced face-plant to realise that someone was knocking on his door. He groaned aloud, but decided against ignoring his unexpected visitor. He was a gentleman, after all. It would be terribly rude to simply leave someone standing on his doorstep.

Unfortunately, his first and only attempt at getting up resulted in his shaky legs giving way, and the ill nation slumped back into the chair with a groan and a thump. Absently, though the dizzy haze of pain and discomfort, Arthur hoped that whoever had decided to interrupt his morning hadn't heard his thwarted attempt at leaving the chair and had simply decided that he wasn't in. His hopes, however, were dashed when he heard a key sliding into the lock and someone jiggling the stiff door handle, before the door creaked open.

"Hello?"

The voice was faint, even to Arthur's muddled ears.

"Arthur?"

He could hear gentle footsteps, and the lack of noise immediately struck a handful of names off the 'potential guest' list. He heard a faint intake of breath as the person entered the threshold of the kitchen, and hurried steps as they rushed towards where he was sat. His guest peered down at the sick nation, and Arthur finally got a good look at his face.

_Ah, Matthew._

"Oh god, are you okay?" he groaned again, but didn't raise hid face. There was a pause. "Are you hungover?" He could see the younger man glance around the kitchen, clearly looking for empty bottles of alcohol. Arthur raised his head and scowled weakly, but the threatening aura was somewhat diminished by the fact that he looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Pale faced, with dark rings under his eyes, flushed cheeks and scraggly, unwashed hair – he didn't realise what a worrying sight he presented to the young Canadian.

He gave another groan and promptly slumped forward again.

"You should be in bed if you're ill," Matthew chastised. "Or at least lying down somewhere." He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder as the young man effortlessly pulled him to his feet – sometimes he forgot that he and Alfred were twins. Matthew was a lot more careful with his strength, and people often forgot that he could easily match his brother.

He was still dizzy as they made their way out of the kitchen, but Matthew's steadying hand managed to keep him upright. He was led into the living room, where he promptly and unceremoniously collapsed on the sofa. Whilst wriggling himself into a comfortable position, Matthew went and retrieved his duvets and some blanket from his bedroom. By the time Arthur was settled, he was wrapped rather snugly and feeling exceptionally tired.

"You're running a fever."

"I hadn't noticed," Arthur grumbled in response. He coughed, phlegm catching painfully in the back of his throat. Matthew winced sympathetically.

"I'll go and get something to drink. Tea?"

"Hm, yes please. There's some sitting on the side." He coughed again. The attention that Matthew was giving him was starting to embarrass the elder nation. He desperately hoped that the younger man would simply pass off the redness on his face as being caused by the fever. He couldn't count on it, though; Matthew had always been a lot more perceptive than his brother.

He cuddled further into the duvet as Matthew left the room, starting to feel the fever-induced chill rattling through his bones. His entire body was screaming for sleep, yet at the same time there was a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him that it would be rude to fall asleep with a guest, someone he had raised practically as a son no less, in his house.

Despite his best intentions, however, he found himself rapidly dropping off to sleep. The peaceful air the young Canadian emanated was a calming presence, and having spent all night with only the barest hint of a restless sleep, he was absolutely shattered.

When Matthew re-entered the room, cup of steaming tea in hand, he was greeted with the sight of a slumbering ex-empire, wrapped tightly in blankets and fast asleep.

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_**AN: Thanks for reading and reviews, as always, are adored :)**_


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